


The capacity to be terribly happy

by space_radio



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: A little angst, Bittersweet Ending, Dancing, First Kiss, Grantaire has a scary family, M/M, Meet-Cute, Tiny Enjolras, Trains, Weddings, a lot of fluff, mostly they're just enthusiastic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3840493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_radio/pseuds/space_radio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a train to Boston for his sister's wedding, Grantaire nearly concusses Enjolras with his suitcase.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The capacity to be terribly happy

There is only one other person on Grantaire's train, and as his luck would have it, he almost clobbers him with his suitcase the instant he sees him. One moment, he's lifting his bag into the overhead compartment, and the next, he hears a cough, which startles him enough that he fumbles his grip for a moment and nearly drops his bag onto the head of the tiny person he hadn't noticed before.

"Shit, sorry," Grantaire gasps as he wrestles his suitcase back into place. "I'll try not to kill you, that'd be good-" and he stops short, because  _how_ had he not noticed this boy before? Seriously, how, because he might be the most beautiful boy Grantaire has ever seen in his life. He's tiny, fine-boned and slender, but with a face like an archangel sent to earth and hair so golden and perfectly curled it could be sculpted out of precious metal. The boy looks to be about Grantaire's age, and he gazes up at him with wide, sleepy blue eyes ringed with thick, dark lashes. There's a red mark pressed into his cheek from where he must have been sleeping on his hand. Grantaire can barely breathe.

He's suddenly uncomfortably aware of the way he's been standing for the past minute or so, arms still raised to push his bag into the locker and ratty t-shirt rucked up at the waist, exposing a few inches of his too-pale abdomen. Grantaire drops his hands in a hurry and slides inelegantly into his designated seat, which, of course, happens to be right across from the angelic stranger he almost concussed with his suitcase. Grantaire sneaks another glance. The boy's perfect lips are parted and he raises a hand to rake through his fine-spun curls; Grantaire can see a hint of white, white teeth. He wants to lick them. He can't look away.

Grantaire decides that he should probably say something else, considering that he nearly killed the boy this gorgeous boy and has done nothing but stare at him since. 

"Um," he says, immediately cursing himself for this miserable start. "Sorry again. For, uh, nearly hitting you in the head with my bag. And for waking you up, I guess. Sorry." Grantaire winces.

The blond boy wets his lower lip with his tongue, and Grantaire thinks he is going to die.

"It's fine," he says. "No harm done." His voice is lovely, just like the rest of him, a perfect smooth tenor compared to Grantaire's scratchy baritone.

"So," Grantaire says, after a beat of silence, "Looks like we're the only ones going to Boston today." He gestures to the empty seats around them. The other boy looks at Grantaire, for a moment before blinking and turning his head, taking in the sight of absolutely no one else.

"Oh," he replies, looking back at Grantaire. "I guess we are." He's quiet for a moment, and then a hint of a smile teases at the corners of his mouth.

"We'll have a couple hours to keep each other company, then," he says. "I'm Enjolras." he holds out his elegant, tiny hand for Grantaire to shake, which he does. Enjolras's palm is very warm.

"Grantaire," Grantaire says. "Nice to meet you." It really, really is. They're still shaking hands. It occurs to Grantaire that Enjolras hasn't taken his eyes off his face throughout this entire exchange. It's fine, really; lord knows he's been staring, too.

Enjolras seems to realize this as well, as he turns a little pink and extricates his hand from Grantaire's grip. He sits on it, as if he can't trust himself not to fidget. This is the best day of Grantaire's life.

"Um, so," Enjolras starts, going at bit pinker. "What do you have going on in Boston, then? Are you a student?"

"Yeah, but not there," Grantaire says. "I'm in animation at CalArts. You've caught me on the last leg of an epic cross-country train journey. I'm visiting family - my older sister's getting married, actually. What about you?"

Enjolras's eyebrows are raised.

"I'm... going to a wedding, too," he says. "One of my friends is getting married in the Public Gardens. We're all hoping the sun comes out before Saturday."

Grantaire's mouth falls open. 

"No way," he says, and starts to laugh. Enjolras looks completely nonplussed, an expression which is, quite frankly, adorable on him. "I think we're going to the same wedding, man. You're friends with Bahorel?"

Enjolras blinks. "I- uh, yes," he says, voice a little stunned. "I've never met his fiance- uh, your sister, I guess, but Bahorel talks about her a lot. He says she has a wonderful laugh." He smiles. Grantaire's breath leaves him for a moment.

"Oh, man, he would know," Grantaire says. "Bahorel's a riot." He smiles back.

"He is," says Enjolras, "one of the most exuberant people I've ever known."

They fall silent. Grantaire can't believe his luck. Not only does he get to spend three hours with the most beautiful boy he's ever met, but he's going to be seeing him _again_ , in only a few short days. He turns to look out the window for a moment, smiling to himself. His sister is not going to believe this.

When he looks back across the table, Enjolras's eyes flash away. His cheeks are pinker than before, like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. Grantaire wants nothing so much as to grab his hand from where it rests palm-down on the table and thread their fingers together. In a moment of prudence, he decides against it, no matter how much he hopes to make Enjolras blush again.

"So," he says, breaking the silence. "Have you ever been to Boston before?"

Enjolras shakes his head. A fat golden curl falls across his forehead.

"Never," he says. "I'm looking forward to it. There's so much history, you know?"

"Yeah," Grantaire says. "Hell of a party city, too, with all those students. There's always something going on." He pauses. "Where are you from, anyway?"

"Chicago, or near enough to it," Enjolras says. "I'm a student there, too."

"Yeah? What do you study?"

"International relations. French, as well."

Grantaire considers this.

"Huh," he says. "What are you going to do with that?" It comes out a little more skeptical than he'd meant it to. Enjolras's eyebrows draw together, and he looks at Grantaire almost fiercely.

"Human rights activism," Enjolras says. "I'll actually be in Boston again this summer for an internship with Amnesty International." He must sense Grantaire's skepticism, because he keeps talking. "Don't look at me like that. It's important work, okay?"

"I don't doubt that," says Grantaire, "but Amnesty? What are you going to do, just sign letters all day?"

"Letter campaigns _work_ ," Enjolras says. He's leaning forward in his seat, eyes glued to Grantaire's. "Do you know how many prisoners of conscience Amnesty has been able to free in the past ten years by using 'just letters'? It's simple and effective and I'd be _glad_ to sign letters all day because I know I'd be making a difference."

Grantaire has never wanted to be convinced more in his life. Determination is wildly attractive on Enjolras.

"Whoah, there," says Grantaire, just to rile him up a little more. "You don't have to go all 'social justice warrior' on me, okay? I may be male and therefore 'privileged'-" he mimes quotation marks with his hands and keeps talking, even though Enjolras is opening his mouth to retort. "-but I'm also bisexual and multiracial, alright? I know a little something about oppression."

Enjolras closes his mouth and blinks. Grantaire realizes he's just outed himself to a complete stranger. He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly awkward.

"You're bi?" Enjolras finally asks, voice softer than before. Grantaire might be imagining it, but Enjolras's cheeks look a little pinker than before. 

"Um. Yeah. Very much so." He winces.

"Oh," Enjolras says. "Well, I'm gay. Very much so." Grantaire looks up to find Enjolras smiling at him. He swallows.

"Um. Cool?" he says. Enjolras ducks his head, still smiling. And, just like that, the tension is broken. Except it isn't, really, because Grantaire desperately wants to make out with him, even more so than before. Now that he knows for sure Enjolras is into guys, the urge is nearly impossible to suppress.

Somehow, they manage to survive the trip to Boston mostly amiably, chatting animatedly the entire way. Grantaire valiantly does not pull Enjolras across the table and into a kiss, despite how much he likes the light in Enjolras's eyes when he has a point to prove. When the train pulls into the station, they stand, and Grantaire rummages for his luggage. Enjolras isn't quite tall enough to reach his bag, so Grantaire stretches up to grab it for him; he feels his shirt ride up an inch or so, but he ignores it. When he turns to hand Enjolras his duffel, Enjolras looks very pink and slightly guilty, eyes glued to a spot somewhere over Grantaire's left shoulder. 

"Come on," he says, and takes his bag, hefting it over his arm. They step down onto the platform, and Enjolras looks suddenly shy. Now that they're standing on level ground, it's even more apparent how tiny Enjolras is - Grantaire's not exactly tall himself, but Enjolras barely reaches his shoulder. He looks so frail, too; where Grantaire is stocky and muscular, Enjolras is slim and delicate. Grantare could probably snap him in half, if he wanted to.

They both turn towards the exit, where a colorfully-dressed man is waving wildly. Enjolras grins and waves back, before turning to Grantaire once more.

"That's one of my friends," he says. "He's here to pick me up." Enjolras doesn't say anything else, though, nor does he make a move to leave, and a silence stretches between them. Grantaire hesitates, unsure what to say. Finally, he takes a breath to say goodbye, but Enjolras beats him to it.

"Thank you for the conversation and the company," he says. "I've never liked travelling alone." The tips of his ears are turning pink, this time, and his eyes are wide.

"Believe me, the pleasure was all mine," Grantaire says. Enjolras's face floods with color, and before Grantaire knows what is happening, Enjolras is stretching up on his toes to press a feather-light kiss to his cheek. He's there only for a moment, but it's long enough for Grantaire to feel Enjolras's breath on his face before he drops back down. 

Grantaire is frozen. He's forgotten how words work; he couldn't speak even if he tried. Enjolras is looking at him intently, face beet-red.

"Well," Enjolras says, breathy. "I'll see you Saturday. At the wedding. Um, bye."

He turns on his heel and hurries over to his friend, whose jaw is dropped in silent surprise. 

"Yeah, Grantaire croaks, a beat too late. "See you then." Still frozen in place, he can do nothing but watch as Enjolras's friend scoops him into a hug and leads him out of the station.

"Who was _that_?" he hears the friend ask, as the doors slide shut behind them.

When Grantaire regains the power of movement, he bends to pick up his bag where he had apparently dropped it to the ground, and takes out his phone to call his sister, grinning.

* * *

 

The day of the wedding dawns sunny and clear, for which Grantaire is infinitely thankful; he moved to California for a reason, after all. His sister cries when he shows her the little movie he'd animated for her as a wedding present, and then she smacks him, telling him off for making her eyes all red and puffy on her wedding day. Grantaire smiles and hugs her, a little teary himself. Then they both down a shot of whiskey for courage, and she leaves to meet her bridesmaids and put on her dress. Grantaire waits until the last possible moment to put on his tuxedo, distracting himself by sketching a pair of wide blue eyes framed with thick lashes.

Since the weather is so nice, Grantaire decides to walk to the Gardens, so when he arrives his hair is a little windswept and his bow tie a little crooked. He figures he must still look okay, though, because Bahorel wolf-whistles when he sees him and bounds over to muss his hair even more. Grantaire hugs him and tells him to take good care of his sister, which earns him an affectionate punch on the shoulder and a sincere "I will, believe me." Grantaire smiles at him and leaves to help greet the guests as they arrive.

And then, Enjolras appears, chatting animatedly with a tall, brown-skinned man. Enjolras looks positively delectable - his golden curls are parted over one ear and his red tie contrasts beautifully with his porcelain skin. His pants are _very_ well-tailored. Grantaire swallows and heads over to say hello.

Enjolras stops short when he sees Grantaire. He eyes Grantaire up, probably trying to be subtle about it, but he notices anyway. Grantaire grins, ridiculously charmed.

"Hi," he says, voice very quiet. He has gone rather pink.

"Hello," Grantaire says. "It's nice to see you again." And, because he's feeling brave, "You look good. Really good." Enjolras ducks his head.

Turning to the other man, Grantaire introduces himself and welcomes him to the wedding. There's a hint of recognition in the other man's - Combeferre's - eyes as they shake hands, and he looks between Grantaire and Enjolras pointedly.

"Grantaire," he says. "It's great to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." He smiles, and this time it's Grantaire's turn to blush.

"Have you?" he says, not missing the vicious glare Enjolras is sending Combeferre's way. As far as glares go, it's pretty attractive. Combeferre remains impassive, though, showing no reaction to being glared at within an inch of his life.

"Only good things, I assure you," Combeferre says, and actually winks before excusing himself to join Enjolras's exuberant friend from the train station, who is laughing at something across the field. Enjolras looks flushed and embarrassed, though unintimidated, and he tips his chin up as he meets Grantaire's eyes.

"So," Enjolras says, but then seems to run out of things to say and simply keeps looking at Grantaire.

"So," parrots Grantaire. He searches for something appropriate to say, and settles on, "Are you a wedding crier?"

"What?" Enjolras is obviously thrown by the question.

"You know, a wedding crier. Do you cry at weddings?"

Enjolras considers this.

"I don't... know," he says. "This is the first wedding I've attended where I actually care about the people getting married."

"Really? Well, you're in for a treat, then. I'm warning you, be ready for waterworks. Do you have a tissue? Even if you don't need it, I guarantee Great Aunt Lilly will, and once she sees you, she won't want to let you go. You're just her type. Oh, look, there she is!"

Grantaire gestures over to an outlandishly-dressed woman with silver-blue hair and a face comprised entirely of wrinkles. As predicted, she is making a beeline for Enjolras, who takes one look and shoots a terrified glance at Grantaire.

"What do I do?" Enjolras whispers, frantic. 

"There's no escaping her now," he says. "She's already seen you. I'll try to help you escape, but - Oh, hi, aunt Lilly! How are you? Beautiful day, isn't it?"

She ignores him, apparently determined to get her hands - potentially literally - on Enjolras.

"Who's your handsome friend, Grantaire? Introduce us, why don't you?"

Grantaire does his best to speed the conversation along, and soon shepherds Enjolras away under the pretense of showing him his seat, though not before his great aunt extracts a promis from Enjolras that they'll dance later on that night. Enjolras, terribly intimidated, didn't know how to refuse.

Soon, though, the wedding starts, and it passes in a blur of flowers and golden sunlight. Grantaire thinks he catches Enjolras wiping a tear from his eye during the vows, and they all whoop and holler when Bahorel dips Grantaire's sister during the kiss. They break apart, laughing, and the ceremony dissolves into happy hugs and congratulatory words from all the gathered friends and family.

The reception is, of course, a lovely affair, and as the sun sets the trees begin to sparkle with meticulously-strung fairy lights. One of Bahorel's friends is in the band, and they play an upbeat mix of old love songs and modern hits that has everybody bouncing around the dance floor. Grantaire loves dancing, and he takes great pleasure in dragging each of his friends onto the floor with him for an enthusiastic boogie, so he passes the evening in an excellent humor. It's dark by the time Grantaire catches great aunt Lilly cornering Enjolras, and he sets out to save the poor boy before he flees in terror. He crosses over to them, and in a moment of courage, wraps his arm around Enjolras's waist.

"Excuse me, aunt Lilly," Grantaire says, "but Enjolras promised to dance with me next, and I'm here to collect him." Enjolras shoots him a surprised look, before nodding and flushing a little.

"Yes, that's right, I did," he says. "Shall we, Grantaire?"

He can only nod in response. Enjolras's hand finds his elbow and they head to the dance floor arm in arm. Once they're a safe distance away, Enjolras stops them, and, turning to face Grantaire, wraps his arms around Grantaire's neck.

"Thank you," Enjolras says, a sweet smile gracing his lips. Grantaire clears his throat and wills himself to place his hands just at the dip of Enjolras's waist. He is warm beneath his jacket and seems to like the contact, if the way he wiggles closer is anything to go by.

"Believe me, it was no problem. At all."

Grantaire steps to the right and Enjolras follows, and soon enough they're moving in an imitation of a slow dance, despite the fact that the music is all wrong for it. Grantaire doesn't care. Enjolras is here, flushed and happy under Grantaire's hands, and they dance together a long while without saying anything. Grantaire desperately wants to kiss him, wants a lot of other things, too. But it's probably too soon for that, so when they song ends, he stops moving, and Enjolras follows suit, withdrawing his hands from where they had miraculously tangled with the ends of Grantaire's hair.

"Would you like something to drink?" Grantaire asks. Enjolras nods, and they head over to the bar together in search of champagne.

Enjolras tipsy is a revelation. For one thing, he keeps giggling, and he's had his hand on Grantaire's thigh for the past five minutes, at least. Grantaire might combust if Enjolras doesn't move his hand, but he also might die if he does move it, so for the moment he's paralyzed in inaction, just smiling and nodding along to a rambling story Enjolras is trying to tell. Enjolras interrupts himself with a giant yawn, and Grantaire looks up to find the dance floor mainly empty, most of the guests having gone home. 

"Hey, Enjolras," Grantaire says, gently. "It's really late and you look exhausted. Where are you staying? I'll walk you back." 

Enjolras looks up at him, eyes wide and visibly thinking, chewing on his cheek for a long moment before giving Grantaire the name of a nearby hotel. Grantaire stands up and pulls Enjolras to his feet, too, trying to ignore the way Enjolras sways closer.

"Alright, let's go," Enjolras says, and grabs Grantaire's hand, decisively weaving their fingers together and blinking up at him. Grantaire melts; he's so completely gone for this tiny, beautiful boy.

"Okay," he says, and they begin walking.

They are mostly quiet on the walk to Enjolras's hotel, save a little tuneless humming as Enjolras swings their joined hands between them. Once they're in the lobby, Enjolras rummages through is pockets, producing a key card and pressing it into Grantaire's free hand.

"Can you help me find my room?" Enjolras asks, voice nearly a whisper. Grantaire finds himself nodding. They step into the elevator together and Enjolras withdraws his hand from Grantaire's, wrapping his arms around himself as Grantaire pushes the button for the correct floor. They are both quiet for a moment before Enjolras breaks the silence.

"I don't want to go," he says, soft and sad. Grantaire looks at him. All his good humor from earlier that evening is gone from his face. Enjolras looks a little lost, and a lot unhappy. He continues speaking.

"My train back to Chicago leaves in the morning," he says, looking down at the floor. The elevator dings as they reach his floor, and they step out of the opening doors. Enjolras looks up at Grantaire, something urgent in his eyes.

"I don't want to go. I've only just met you, and we haven't even kissed yet, and I don't think you're going to kiss me because I'm still a little drunk and you're a good person. I don't want to go before I've kissed you, Grantaire," he says. Grantaire thinks his heart might beat out of his chest.

"I really want to kiss you too, Enjolras," he says. "But we'll see each other again soon, okay? You and I both are coming back to Boston for the summer, and we'll have plenty of time for that later, right?" Feeling brave, he brushes his fingers along Enjolras's cheek. Enjolras closes his eyes. 

"Two months is a really long time," he says.

"I know."

Enjolras swallows and opens his eyes. He sets his jaw, then tips his chin up until he's looking straight into Grantaire's eyes. He steps closer, skating his hand up Grantaire's arm.

"Hold still," he whispers, and rises to his toes to press his lips to Grantaire's.

Grantaire can't breathe. Enjolras is- Enjolras is kissing him, for real this time, plush lips and soft pressure against his own. It's sweet, at first, with closed mouths and soft sighs, but somehow, Grantaire's fingers find their way into Enjolras's bountiful hair, and he presses closer, sucking on Enjolras's bottom lip. Enjolras gasps and opens his mouth, and Grantaire gladly slips him a little tongue. Enjolras makes another surprised noise and wiggles a bit, throwing his arms around Grantaire's neck fr more leverage.

Grantaire groans, a soft sound, but more than audible in the quiet of the hallway. He licks behind Enjolras's pretty white teeth, relishing the way this makes Enjolras jolt and shuffle closer. He moves one of his hands to the small of Enjolras's back, hauling him in, and thinks that if they get any closer, they might merge into one person.

The longer the kiss goes on, the louder Enjolras gets, until his harsh breathing fills the hallway. Every exhale is a little moan and Grantaire doesn't think he's ever been this turned on in his life. He backs Enjolras against the opposite wall, and is rewarded with a little bite to his jaw. Grantaire moves to kiss Enjolras's ear and sucks a little on the patch of skin behind it, delighted when Enjolras whines high in his throat. Back to the wall, Enjolras presses his hips against Grantaire's thigh, and whines again.

Grantaire is suddenly, painfully aware of the fact that Enjolras is just as turned on as he is, and of the other, less happy fact that he's leaving tomorrow. He moves his hands to Enjolras's shoulder, and breaks away from the trail of kisses he's been leaving down the elegant column of Enjolras's neck. Enjolras makes a breathy, disappointed noise, and Grantaire wants nothing more than to be kissing him again. He doesn't, though.

"Enjolras," he whispers. "Hey, Enjolras, it's really late and you're still a little drunk. You should go to bed, okay?"

Enjolras looks up at him, a sad, open expression on his face. He is wonderfully flushed and his hare is a disaster. He looks beautifully disheveled. Grantaire presses a quick, sweet kiss to his lips and somehow manages to keep from deepening it.

"You have a train to catch tomorrow, remember?" Grantaire insists. Enjolras is quiet, throat working. He nods, and then tips forward, pressing his forehead against Grantaire's sternum and clutching Grantaire's jacket in his hands, like a child.

"I don't want to, though," he says.

"I know."

Grantaire strokes his hand up and down Enjolras's back a few times.

"I like you a lot, Enjolras."

"I like you, too. So much."

They stand like that, not-quite hugging, so silent in the dark hallway that Grantaire almost thinks Enjolras has fallen asleep. IT's clear though, from the way his breath hitches every so often, that he's still awake.

"Hey," Enjolras whispers, finally, taking a step back. Grantaire misses the contact immediately. "Hang on a second, okay? I'll be right back."

He fishes the key card out of Grantaire's pocket and slides it into the door. Grantaire stays as still as he can as Enjolras disappears into his dark hotel room. He's back in less than a minute, a slip of paper in his hand. He folds it neatly and tucks it into the pocket of Grantaire's coat, a tiny, sad smile on his face.

"Please call me," Enjolras says, "or text me, or whatever you want. I like you and I want to see you this summer, but I don't think I can wait that long to talk to you again, so call me, please?" He bites his lip and looks so hopeful that Grantaire can't help but kiss him again.

"Of course," he says. "Of course I'll call you." Enjolras smiles, a slow, sweet one, and rises up on his toes to press a kiss to the corner of Grantaire's mouth. 

"Good," Enjolras says. "Goodnight, then. I'll see you very soon." And after a long look, he turns and disappears into his room a second time.

Grantaire stays where he is for several long minutes. Enjolras doesn't come back out of his room, though. 

Sighing, Grantaire pushes the button for the elevator, fingering the slip of paper in his pocket with his other hand.

As he walks home, he thinks, two months may be a long time, but in the grand scheme of things? It's barely any time at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Patricia Highsmith's "Strangers on a Train" for reasons which are hopefully apparent. Also, I wrote this fic on a train, so there's that.
> 
> Grantaire's sister is as nameless as Bahorel's "laughing mistress" is in the brick.
> 
> Sorry that Enjolras got maudlin, there. It happens to the best of us, I guess.
> 
> I have no idea whether it's possible to have a wedding in the Public Gardens. They are so beautiful, though! I'd totally get married there.
> 
> Join me over at prouvaireiant.tumblr.com! This is the first real fic I've ever written, so thanks very much for reading.


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